


Training

by ohgodmyeyes



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Breathplay, Choking, Don't Try This At Home, F/M, Force Choking (Star Wars), Intimacy, Love, Porn with Feelings, Porn with Weird Feelings, Possessive Anakin Skywalker, Sex, Smut, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 11:28:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21968596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohgodmyeyes/pseuds/ohgodmyeyes
Summary: Anakin and Padmé escaped Mustafar, and are experiencing a taste of the married life they always dreamed of having together.However, Padmé wants something more, and her husband is not entirely sure that he can or should give it to her.
Relationships: Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 14
Kudos: 125





	1. More

“You’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, you know,” Anakin told Padmé as he leaned in closely, and ran an intricately-designed set of durasteel fingers through her hair.

“How are you even more blinded by your love now than you were before?” She laughed, but she relished having him back.

“Because it’s only grown— that’s how.” Then, Anakin kissed her; kissed her as though he hadn’t in a long time, even though he now got to do this nearly every day. 

They were sitting up in bed together; free of clothes, with their legs tucked under the sheets. It was nighttime, but neither of them was ready to sleep. They had talked a while, because they liked to do that... and now they were beginning to explore one another, because they liked to do that, too. Their twins were asleep, and for now, their family was safe.

Anakin had followed Obi-Wan off Mustafar after realizing what he had done to Padmé in his rage, and it was nearly a year later now. Their lives were still far from easy, but they were together. They even managed to steal for themselves many moments such as this one, where they were allowed to enjoy one another’s company without fear or hesitation. It should have been difficult for them to learn to trust each other again, after what transpired on that searing planet— however, they had found that the faith and love which had always flowed freely between them came just as easily now as it did before.

They were grateful for this.

And _their_ escape was what they both called it.

“I love you, too— I’ll always be grateful you did the right thing for us,” as she leaned in closely, slipped her arms around his waist, and rested her head on the broad, warm expanse of his chest.

“I almost didn’t,” he answered as he embraced her protectively in return.

“I know— but you _did_.” Then, she kissed gently and reassuringly at his breastbone, while he simply squeezed her— because he never knew quite what to say to that.

Padmé was correct: He had, indeed, done what was right, even if he had done it nearly too late. That lateness was part of the reason he was still holding onto some of the guilt he felt over what he had done: He should have stopped so much sooner. This tendency to ruminate was part of Anakin’s nature, however much he tried to fight it.

“You know I’m still sorry, don’t you?” He asked her this often. Less often now that so many months had passed— but still often enough.

“I do, Ani... and you don’t have to be.” 

“I feel like I have to be.” He raised his hand— his own hand; the one not nestled in her hair— and let the warmth of his fingers trail softly across the flesh at the front of her neck. Even if she could forgive him, he thought he could not afford to forget.

Padmé was quiet, now, as she enjoyed his touch— enjoyed it very much. She thought for a moment; said, “I’m not holding you responsible for Darth Vader’s actions, Anakin.” This was true. She did not see the man who had hurt her, then, as the same man who was sitting next to her now. Padmé had married Anakin, not Vader— and as far as she was concerned, her husband had never harmed her.

This belief; this knowledge, had settled with her over the months... it had, in fact, even inspired a certain, strange desire within her: One which had now begun to swell at the soft glance of her husband’s hand. It was not a desire of which she was proud; in fact, it would typically have been very unlike her to want something such as this. She had also felt, before, that not enough time had passed to address it. 

Maybe, though...

Maybe now could be the right time.

She retrieved one of her own arms from around Anakin, and touched the fingers he’d left resting so gently on her throat. She asked, “...Can I tell you something?” 

“Anything at all,” Anakin whispered. He loved being this close to his wife; it made him feel that she was truly his.

“It has to stay with us,” she started cautiously. She had wanted to tell him this, but was deeply uncomfortable with the idea of anyone else finding out.

“I won’t tell a soul,” and he meant it. There was not a secret he wouldn’t keep for Padmé, and nearly nothing he would not do.

She knew he wouldn’t ever lie to her, so with a deep breath she continued, “What Darth Vader did to me on Mustafar...”

“I’m sorry,” he interrupted, before she could continue. He even withdrew his hand from her neck, slipping it out from beneath her fingers and resting it on her leg instead. He would never stop being sorry.

“No, no— what I mean...” She sighed, because this was difficult, and she hadn’t intended to make him feel as though he needed to apologize again. She replaced her hand on his; tightened her grip on him further with her other arm. “...What I mean is that I’ve been thinking.”

“Thinking about what?” He felt frightened at this, but again, he would do anything for her. What did she need him to know? What did she need _from_ him?

Very quietly— Padmé was rarely embarrassed, but this did make her feel ashamed— she asked, “....Well... what if... _Anakin_ did that to me?”

“I would never—”

“—Not out of anger, Ani... or fear. What if you did it because...”

“Because what?” He was confused, too, now. What was she asking?

“...What if you did it because I wanted you to?”

Anakin seemed to freeze. What was this? After hesitating for a very long time, “Why... would you _want_ me to?”

Her shame nearly overtook her, now, but Padmé had always been courageous: “I think that if _you_ did it...” One more deep breath to steel herself before finishing in a whisper, “... _I think it might feel good._ ”

He tensed; she felt it in both the mechanical fingers in her hair, and in the much warmer hand on her leg. She felt it in his torso, as she clutched him. She worried, now, that she had made a mistake. She was about to say his name; then finally, he spoke again:

“Are you... being serious...?” Was this a test of his control; his resolve? Was she checking him for remaining traces of the darkness he was supposed to have abandoned? Surely, he was supposed to refuse to do this...? “I don’t think I could—”

“It’s okay, Ani. I’m sorry. I should never have—”

He cupped the back of her head as gently as he could with his right hand; interrupted, “—No, don’t be sorry. I just... I thought—”

“—It’s alright, Ani. Let’s forget it.” She had been wrong, she thought, to even consider asking him to do something like that intentionally.

But Anakin, despite himself, found he did not want to simply forget it. He also wanted to please her— always. “Would it... make you happy...? For me to...?”

Padmé nearly blushed, which it was very difficult to make her do. Into her husband’s chest, she answered, “...I’d like to find out if it would.”

He pulled back to look at her face. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I trust you not to,” she said. She truly did— or else the idea of him taking her breath away in a more literal sense than usual would not have excited her like this.

Anakin thought. She trusted him enough to let him choke her? It almost didn’t make sense to him, but in a way... “....You think I have enough control to keep you safe...?”

She knew he did. “Yes,” as she looked up into his eyes. “I do.”

He shifted uncomfortably; glanced away from her. “I don’t know if I—”

“—You’re a Jedi, Ani. You don’t have to do it, but... I know you could.” She took her arm back from around him, now, and brushed his hair away to touch the side of his face gently. It made him look at her again.

He studied her expression, and then let his eyes scan the lovely pallor of her neck and chest. After untangling her hair from his shiny, steel fingers, he ran them down her cheek and along her jaw until they rested where his other hand had— just at the base of her throat. He _did_ enjoy the way it looked there.

“What would I use...?” He asked her tentatively. “The Force...? One of my hands...?”

“Whatever you like,” she said. She could feel warmth rising within her; took her hand from his face and placed it on his chest. 

He took a deep breath. Carefully; slowly, he began to apply the slightest bit of pressure to Padmé’s trachea with a cold, hard metal thumb. Her breath began to catch; he stopped— and she smiled.

A bit more breathlessly, “Just like that, Anakin.” She squeezed the hand he’d left resting on her leg, lifted it up so that it cupped her face, and nuzzled it gently.

There was no hand on his throat, but he felt short of breath himself— his heart beat quickly, and he could feel a very distinct arousal beginning to stir inside him. It was frightening and unfamiliar, but also exciting. Was this really something he could do...? When he thought about it— and he did, now— the idea of choking his wife out of a primal, sexual desire as opposed to fright or rage made him curious. If there was ever a thing to test his command of himself, then this was certainly it. 

The challenge appealed to him, along with the exquisite appearance of Padmé’s lips as they had _just_ begun to struggle to draw air. He was still scared; still hesitant— still unsure as to why she would truly want this. However, she did: He couldn’t feel any dishonesty from within her; couldn’t see a trace of it on her face, either. 

She wanted to be grasped by the neck, and squeezed.

He was hard beneath the sheets, by now, and was certain she had noticed. He would have trouble, by this point, if he tried to convince her he _didn’t_ want to participate in this... and that was because he did. His body betrayed him.

After giving him time to think— and herself time to look down and notice the physical manifestation of her idea’s allure— she asked with a smile, “Again?”

With his left hand on her face and the other on her throat, still, he pressed with his thumb once more— a little harder this time. The skin covering the soft hollow at the base of her neck yielded easily to it; more easily than even Anakin would have expected.

A strangled gasp, this time, before he let go entirely, and took his hands off of her.

“What’s wrong, Ani?”

“I’m scared,” he said, because he was always honest with her.

She slid her hand down his chest; let it rest on the large, prominent protrusion poking up from between his legs. “You’re not _only_ scared, are you?”

“N-no.” He breathed deeply. “There are... other feelings, too.”

“What kinds of feelings?”

“Feelings I’m not sure I can control.”

“I know you can do it.” She always had believed in him. She gave him a coy look. “You could even consider it a type of training, couldn’t you?”

Anakin chuckled, somewhat bewildered. “ _Training?_ ”

“Training,” she confirmed. “I’ve always wanted to help you become stronger.” 

“You make me stronger every day, Padmé.” He had always felt this way.

“Then trust me— and trust in yourself, too.” She reached up with her hands and ran them both through his hair; one on either side of his head. She loved his hair— she loved _him_. She wanted Anakin to show her what he could do; what he could _keep_ himself from doing. She wanted to feel her throat begin to close; yearned to see black smudges begin to invade her field of vision... then, she wanted her Ani to bring her back from it, like the hero she knew he was.

This would be good for him, she thought— and perhaps enjoyable for her, too, if her suspicions in that regard were correct.

She would never have admitted it; not to a soul, but Padmé liked— sometimes— to feel as though she _belonged_ to her husband, in a way which would have been frowned upon by those closest to her. Anakin, too, would never have confessed his primitive attraction to the idea of having dominion over the woman he loved: He was supposed to have given up those sorts of urges. 

This one compulsion, however, persisted.

Something passed between them; passed through their eyes, and through their skin as they touched one another: An acknowledgement that this strange thirst was mutual, and that they both wanted to test the act of satisfying it.

“...More, then, my love?” He leaned back in; replaced his hands on her. This time, he stroked her face with his steel thumb and used the warm one; the one made of _him_ , to push on her throat. She made a sound that was both sensual and frightening— a garbled moan— and her hand shot down to squeeze his hardness through the sheet.

It scared him, but he trusted her... so, he decided to trust himself, too.

He hadn’t let go yet, this time, so through a drastically narrowed airway, she wheezed, “ _More_.”

Without moving his hand, he leaned in to kiss her. Her lips felt so warm. He unclenched his fingers, and she gasped gratefully into his mouth.

“More, Ani,” she repeated. “ _Please give me more._ ”

He pushed her down gently; she laid back. He climbed atop her and straddled her, one knee on either side of her waist. 

“I would do anything for you, Padmé. _Anything_.” 

He meant that with all his heart; every tiny, cobbled-together piece of it. So, he pointed his right hand toward her— it shone in the dull light of the room— and twisted it in the air. Her head went back, and an invisible energy flowed from out her husband to lock the atmosphere right out of her... for as long as he saw fit.

It was alright, because she trusted him.


	2. Perfect

The sight of Anakin had excited Padmé for a long time, but right now, he looked especially enrapturing: As he sat tall on his knees and straddled her, she could see all her favourite parts of him, and she studied these parts intently. Inside and out, he was simply perfect to her. He always had been, and always would be.

He had just released her from his grip; the vice-like one borne of his invisible power. Her vision had cleared quickly as she had finally and desperately taken in some air; however, she now felt a bit dizzy. In her brief and mild delirium, she revelled in her husband’s appearance: Broad and solid; somehow miraculously unblemished for all he’d been through in his young life, and impressively; _impossibly_ strong. 

His skin was just beginning to take on the sheen of a nervous, almost feverish sweat; that lovely golden crown of hair she loved to run her fingers through looked utterly wild in his frenzy of arousal, and his muscles— all of them— seemed tense to the point of looking deliciously overwrought.

He was _beautiful_ , and he had her life in his hands. She would never have let anyone else hold it this way. 

“Are you alright?” He asked this from above her as he lowered his arm to his side.

“ _Perfect,_ ” she breathed, as her chest heaved and her fingers once again gripped the sheets tightly. 

Anakin felt strange about this, still, but he couldn’t deny the pleasure he was taking in it. He’d always thought his wife beautiful; since he was a boy, she had been the most elegant thing he had ever seen. To touch her hair with his fingers and let his lips trail over her smooth, delicate skin were among his greatest joys— especially since he had ceased taking them for granted. The fact that she craved not only his touch, but his _strength_ ; that she wanted to glimpse hints of the brutality she knew he held deep within him...

This knowledge was intoxicating to Anakin, and it was the sheer force of his love for her which prevented his inebriation from overtaking him entirely. 

He loved her so much, in fact, that he asked before he began to strangle her again: “Another?”

“ _Yes,_ ” she nearly begged him, because this felt so good— better than she had anticipated, and she’d been thinking about it for months. 

He switched hands; extended the one made of flesh and bone this time, and focused his energy on Padmé— on her perfect neck— as he moved his fingers intricately and twisted his arm. Without him having to do so much as touch her, her head went back again. She jolted beneath him, and this made his already rigid, leaking cock twitch with further excitement. Her eyes widened and she tried to cough, but she couldn’t as Anakin tightened the grip he had on her with the Force.

She moved under him again; tried to buck her hips, and then finally began to writhe in a way that seemed _almost_ desperate. Just as her face started to redden a bit too dramatically, he let go again— to the sound of a very sharp inhale.

“ _Anakin..._ ”

He had not realized he’d begun to smile covetously at her, as she had struggled. He asked her almost wryly, “Was that too much?” 

“No, Ani... not too much...” She panted; as she did, the rise and fall her breasts— still heavy and full only months after giving birth— caught his eye. 

“ _Good,_ ” he growled sensuously as he bent over her, and leaned in very close. He slid his own hand up her body and grasped one of her breasts in it; squeezed it to a soft moan. His metal hand he rested once again on her throat; rubbed with a steel thumb at that soft, hollow spot with which he was discovering he very much liked to play.

Before she had it taken from her again, Padmé used her voice to ask, “Do you like it, too, Ani?” She already knew the answer— the hardness of his cock, and the twist of his lips into their satisfied little smirk told it to her— but she needed to hear him say it with words.

Still leaned in closely, he nuzzled her ear and whispered into it as he fingered a swollen nipple, “ _I love it._ ” Then, as he nipped at her jaw with his teeth, he pressed down on her neck yet again with his thumb. 

The noise she made— one of those hitching, crackling moans— caused _him_ to gasp, and even tighten his grip. He lifted his head to watch her because he couldn’t resist, and found that she appeared more angelic than she ever had as her eyes opened wide, and her airway was squeezed firmly shut.

Again, he released her as the colour of her skin began to frighten him— and he did not wait to kiss her. He probed her mouth deeply and suddenly with his tongue; enjoyed, again, how very warm it felt. He sat back up tall atop her when he was finished; as he let go, he watched with delight as her skin slowly turned back to its own colour. He loved knowing it was him who’d let her come back: Him, and no one else.

He was overcome, now, with a need to find out for himself exactly how much his wife was enjoying this: He clambered off of her so that he was sitting next to her supine form, and used the gentle fingers of his left hand to probe between her legs. 

He must have gasped audibly, or made some other sound indicating his surprise at how very slick she was, because Padmé laughed as she propped herself up on her elbows and asked him, “Did you think I wasn’t enjoying it?”

Anakin smiled; answered, “I just wanted to make sure I was really making you happy.”

“You really, _really_ are,” she said, as her hips moved to the exquisite sensation of him softly rubbing her.

He laughed, too, and brought his fingers up to his mouth to taste the way he was making her feel. 

She noticed how much he liked it; teased him, “ _See?_ ”

He stared at her, now— stared intently as he ran his eyes up and down the figure he’d coveted since he was too young to know what that meant. She was breathtaking; she always had been, but was especially so now that she had mothered his children. Every day before and every day since, she had grown more beautiful to him. He loved to tell her so, although she often made gentle fun of him for it.

“I see,” he said quietly. He _did_ see; he saw everything, and now he saw how much she trusted him, too. He thought he had shattered that; broken it long ago, when he’d been pressed firmly beneath the Emperor’s thumb. 

He hadn’t, though, and the only thumb pressing down on _this_ night had been his own— into the most yielding part of Padmé’s neck. 

He wanted to replace it there, now, so he did— as he virtually pounced back atop her, knocking her flat on her back once again as he wrapped a set of inhuman fingers around her throat. He wrapped his legs around her’s, too, to ensure she could not writhe enough to even begin to escape before he was ready to let her go. 

This time he squeezed higher up; dug his thumb and forefinger into the soft flesh just behind her chin. It was a much more certain grip, and to Anakin, it was even more fun to choke his wife this way than it had been to simply push on her trachea. He noticed he was dripping even more from the head of his cock; could feel sticky tendrils of himself trailing onto her stomach, linking the two of them.

The sensation of Anakin’s thumb had been one thing; his whole hand encircling her neck nearly completely was something else: She could not wheeze, now; could not say his name, or ask for more. She also could not tell him to release her, if that was what she wanted. She was completely at his mercy, and Padmé was unused to being at anyone’s mercy— it was a uniquely thrilling sensation, even as she began to feel much too hot, and the edges of her vision began to darken.

She had started to turn red enough that he felt called to loosen his grip, if only slightly. As she choked a sputtering lungful of air in through a windpipe now no wider than a straw, she felt her husband press his hips into her roughly. 

She knew what he wanted; knew what he was craving, so through a set of throbbing, ruby lips, she mouthed as best she could, “ _Please!_ ” It was all she could do, but she knew he would understand. 

Perhaps she should have been frightened, but she’d been being honest when she had told Anakin she believed him— believed _in_ him.

He bared his teeth in another possessive smile. “ _Yes,_ ” as he positioned himself in a way that allowed him to slide deeply and immediately inside of her. He growled again as she welcomed him; began to rut into her quickly and sharply as he propped himself up with his left arm. He kept his right hand clasped just below her jaw.

Padmé tried but failed to cry out at the familiar, delectable stretch of Anakin’s cock. It was needy; needy like the rest of him often was, and she revelled in it now as she always did— even as he tightened his grip on her neck once more. She loved his hands; both of them, but that bionic miracle of engineering he had fashioned for himself had a tendency to remind her of how special he was.

It did exactly that now, even though it had completely cut her off from the air in the room once again. She could still see, so she looked up at her husband. When she did, she witnessed the faintest shadow on his face; it was the shadow of an expression she had not seen in many months, but she recognized it promptly.

“Ani?” It scarcely sounded like his name; it was less a sound than a barely-detectable movement of her mouth. She couldn’t tell whether he hadn’t seen it, or whether he was ignoring it; however, in spite of it, he only quickened the pace of his increasingly frantic thrusting. 

Anakin normally would have taken his time; he had never been one to rush while he was being intimate with his wife. Right now, though, he felt almost completely overtaken at the sight of her: Red, hot to the touch, helpless... and, perhaps best of all, squirming under his grip.

He loved her; he loved _having_ her.

_He loved to do this to her._

The inky blackness which had danced, before, around the edges of Padmé’s vision began to completely overtake it now. Her own fingers seemed to act out of instinct, and shot up to her neck. They grasped and clawed at her husband’s inflexible hand to no avail as his cock stiffened, and he cried out in a way that she could not. He disappeared into the darkness he’d imposed on her as she felt him pump his essence into her thirsty core: It was almost as though he were afraid he might never get to do it again.

As his shout reverberated off of the walls of the room and he closed his own eyes, he felt her clench tightly around him, drawing out the last of his ecstasy. After tensing one last time, every muscle in his body seemed to relax... including the ones that controlled his steel hand, which finally— graciously— released his wife from its brutal grasp.

He fell beside her, smiling, and kissed at the side of her face as he worked to even out his breathing. He felt as though he were coming back from somewhere; somewhere far away, but he also felt absolutely incredible.

He told Padmé this, but she did not answer.

He said her name, then, but she was still and silent.

Anakin sat up beside her like a bolt; looked at her, and began to panic. Her skin was white again, but it looked almost _too_ white. Her eyes were closed, her body was unmoving, crimson fingermarks marred her neck, and he could not rightly tell whether or not she was breathing.

Eyes wide and sweat quickly turning cold, he scooped her up in his arms— it took little effort; he was so strong, and she was so small. She still felt warm; very warm, and he put his ear to her chest to see if he could detect anything coming from within it.

He did: The flutter of her heart; not quite as strong or fast as it normally was, but present nonetheless. In what had quickly become a near-hysterical dread, he jostled her in an attempt to bring her lips to his.

Before he could get them there, he heard a wheezing gasp, followed by a very raspy, “ _Anakin..._ ”

It was all he could do to keep from bursting into tears as he held her tightly to his chest. “ _Padmé!_ ”

They were quiet after this for a few long moments; she caught her breath, and he caught his, too. They were both still wet and dripping from their mutual satisfaction, but that was the furthest thing from Anakin’s mind at that moment as he started, “I’m sorry— I’m so, so sorry; I—”

“Shh,” she interrupted quietly. “Shh, Ani— you were perfect.”

“What? I almost—”

“—You didn’t. You were perfect, just like I knew you would be.” It was true— she had known from the beginning that no matter what happened, she would wake up safe in her husband’s arms... and she had. She was even still throbbing between her legs; a pulsing reminder of just how much she had enjoyed the adventure on which he’d so bravely taken her.

He was not sure he quite saw it this way; in Anakin’s eyes, he had been nearly too late to save her— _again_. He had loved doing it; loved it more than he ever would have expected or wanted himself to... but he didn’t trust himself to do it correctly.

What if he _was_ too late, next time?

“Padmé, I don’t think I should...” He let himself trail off: He was too scared to tell her he would do this for her again, but also too scared to tell her he couldn’t.

“I think you should, Ani,” she said encouragingly. Now having gone through with it, she wasn’t sure if she could go without doing it again. The feeling of him having such complete control was intoxicating for her in the same way as exerting that control was for him.

She had loved being strangled by Anakin, and she wanted more.

“I think you loved it as much as I did,” she smiled. “And I think you’ll only get better.” She laughed; coughed, then added, “Training... remember?”

He laughed at this— she was very good at making him laugh. “‘Training’,” he mocked gently. “I suppose this is a kind of training I can’t do with anyone else, is it?”

She grinned, now. “Definitely not— but it seems important, don’t you think?”

Tentatively— but not quite so much as when the subject had first been broached— he agreed with her, “Yes... yes, it seems important.” He wasn’t only being coy: His near-loss of control had frightened him, even if it had not scared Padmé. He knew that the answer was not to bury it, but to confront it; defeat it. 

The darkness; this _particular_ darkness which he felt within him was capable of being harnessed, just like anything else— and, indeed, the only person who could help him do it was his wife.

She was willing, and he would have been remiss not to accept her assistance.

Padmé sat up under her own power, now; slid off of him to sit next to him, as if to prove that she was fine. He raised his hand; his flesh-and-bone one, now, and traced with his fingers the marks he had left on her in his passion.

As she leaned into his touch, she asked, “So... you’ll want to ‘train’ like that again?” She was feeling more bold about her secret pleasure, now, but she was still nervous that he would refuse to impose it on her. She wanted him to trust himself as much as she trusted him— and she trusted him implicitly.

Anakin took a deep breath and answered honestly (albeit somewhat fearfully), “...Yes. Yes, I think I will.” He smiled, finally, and added, “I’ll do it if you believe I can.”

“I believe you can do _anything_ , Ani.” And she did— she had always been able to tell that he was brimming with potential; it had made him easy to fall in love with, and to stay in love with, too, in spite of everything.

“Then I will,” he confirmed decisively, as he replaced his arms around her and pulled her back down with him atop the pillows: He wanted to lay with her a while, now. As she nestled her body into him and he buried his face in her hair, he reflected on the way his wife thought about him, and on how very incongruent it was with the way he often thought about himself. Anakin frequently felt irredeemable; intrinsically corrupted.

To Padmé, though...

To her, he was simply her hero. Her Jedi Knight, who would always, _always_ do what was right, even if he didn’t think he was truly capable of doing it. He’d proven it to her when he was a boy, he’d proven it to her when they’d fallen in love, and he’d proven it to her on Mustafar.

He’d proven it again, now, in their bed as they’d shared the deepest expression of intimacy that they possibly could.

“I love you, Ani,” she said, as she closed her eyes and savoured his embrace. It was all she needed him to know right now, and anyway, it was the only thing she felt she really had to say. He truly had been incredible.

“I love you, too, Padmé,” he murmured into the back of her head. He felt so lucky to have her right now. In his exhaustion, he could barely hear himself... but he knew that his wife would understand him, because she always did.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m sorry.


End file.
